


Unhappy Camper

by spinner33



Series: CM - Close to Canon [39]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Camping Misadventures, M/M, Oh So Very Graphic, Seriously Graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5357219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hotch plans a surprise camping trip with Reid.  Reid gets arrested for murder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Part One - Friday Night

 

Hotch gave the entire team Friday afternoon off. Everyone knew where Hotch was taking Reid, except for Reid. JJ cackled and retreated to her office to gather her purse and phone. Morgan was supportive all the way, saying it would do Reid good to get outside and get some fresh air for a change. Garcia gave Hotch a hug and a sympathetic pat on the arm, as if she had had a premonition that he would need a good hug before the weekend was out. Prentiss rolled her eyes and shook her head at Aaron, obviously very disappointed in him for some reason he could not fathom. Rossi shrugged, and said he would be in New York for the weekend, and wished him luck.

Aaron took the time to tell Strauss he would be out of town camping, so she would know where he was if she needed him. In retrospect, that had probably been a mistake.

“Leaving,” he said, popping his head into Strauss’s office around two. There was a suit there talking to the assistant director. Erin looked up from her desk and nodded grimly, working up a faint smile. It must have been a serious conversation before Hotch had interrupted. The suit studied Hotch too.

“Do you have a contact number?” Strauss asked. 

“I’ll have my cell phone with me.”

“Will you be where it will work?” 

“Shenandoah National Forest.”

“It’s a big place, Agent Hotchner. Could you be more specific?” Strauss narrowed her eyes.

“Near Grottoes. Near Route 340. There is even has a small airport in case of extreme emergencies.”

“Where are you off to?” the suit asked. Hotch didn’t recognize him, but he was ready to answer cheerfully at any rate.

“Taking his son camping,” Strauss answered for him, giving Hotch a meaningful look which said not to add anything further. “Have you met Director Winslow before?”

“Not in the flesh.”

“Physical Training Unit Chief,” Strauss added even more meaningfully. Hotch nodded his hellos. Maybe he should have been suspicious. Maybe he should have wondered why Winslow was there. But right at that moment, Hotch didn’t care. He was too anxious to be gone and get on the road, and start his weekend.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Call me if you need me, ma’am,” he added before ducking away again.

Director Winslow. That had been the weak link. He was of course unit chief for the Physical Training and Assessment Division, and that made him Doug Eberhard’s direct supervisor. Director Winslow no doubt returned to his office, and spoke with Eberhard about the way Agent Hotchner had interrupted his meeting with Director Strauss, how Hotch was going to take his son camping in Shenandoah for the weekend, how nice that was. It hadn’t been done in malice. It hadn’t been mentioned with the intention of causing harm and doing damage to anyone involved. Winslow wasn’t that sort of man. He wasn’t the sort who would wish harm on one of their own.

He wouldn’t know what serious damage his simple conversation would have until the weekend was played out.


	2. Chapter 2

“If you’re going to spend the weekend pouting, we can turn around right now and go home,” Hotch offered as they lined up behind the other cars that were entering Shenandoah National Forest. They were queuing up to a small brown hut and a lowered arm-gate.

"Then I get to deal with you sulking all weekend? No, thank you,” Reid sniffed.

“So instead I get to deal with you sulking because I dragged you away from your….hi, how much?” Hotch asked as he rolled down the window. “From your….”

“Ten dollars,” the ranger answered. Hotch dug around in his wallet and slid the ranger a twenty.

“From your….whatever the hell you’re reading over there,” Hotch growled. The ranger raised a brow, digging around in the change drawer.

“I’m not sulking,” Reid replied. “I was looking forward to some space, that’s all.”

“Space, the final frontier. That’s more like,” Hotch snorted. Reid put down his novel and gave Aaron a dark stare. “Don’t deny it. You’d spend twenty-hours a day in front of that tv if I let you.”

Spencer didn’t point out that up until last year, a weekend spent in front of the tv, watching whatever DVD he chose or whatever sci-fi movie marathon was on, that had been the extent of a normal weekend for Reid. He had spent many of those weekends yearning for…for what? Excitement. Someone to share his life with. A little drama. A little adventure. But now there were times when he really missed being able to sit in front of the tv, or lounge in bed with a good book, and not have to worry that someone else was in the house and might want or need his attention or his help or his time.

“Peace and quiet, and time to myself. That’s what I was looking forward to. All this week, you’ve been secreting around, gathering up camping supplies, and I thought that it was so fantastic that you were taking Jack away for a father/son weekend. He loves camping! I hate it, Hotch. You know I hate it. How could you do this to me?” Reid complained, annoyed.

“It’s fun!”

“It’s bugs, and water, and poison ivy, and stench. Peeing in the forest.”

“It’s a chance to enjoy the summer weather.” 

“Mosquitoes!” Reid exclaimed.

“Have you ever actually been camping? Have you ever actually spent the night outside, staring up at the stars?" Hotch asked skeptically. Reid’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“The last time I was outside under the stars all night, I was in the company of a very angry Russian mobster who was making me disinter dismembered body parts from a mass grave. He was threatening to shoot me every other minute if I didn’t find the person he was searching for. There really wasn't much star-gazing or sleep involved. It was not an experience I care to ever repeat.”

“You and….thanks,” Hotch bit the word off and snatched the change back from the ranger. She gave him a scolding, firm glare, and he shriveled back.

“Camping is permitted in designated areas only,” she commented, having spotted the tent and sleeping bags and supplies in the back seat.

“Thank you. Sorry. Thank you,” Hotch amended. As he put the vehicle in drive again, he turned and growled at Spencer. “You and I are going camping. We are going to have a wonderful time. I have the whole weekend planned. I know you’ll have fun.”

He drove the SUV forward and began to read the brown signs that were appearing by the side of the paved road.

Reid slid his novel into his satchel and bit his mouth closed to keep from saying another word. He burned on the inside but held his temper there. Hotch wasn’t going to be so reticent. He was never one to abandon a good argument – it must have been the lawyer in him.

“Spencer Reid, there are times when you're like a spoiled teenager that never grew up and never will. You are selfish. You are egocentric. You lock yourself away, and you refuse to let anyone in. I get too close, or demand too much of you, and you drop these walls down, and it’s like I’m staring at Mount Everest. Ice and snow and insurmountable…..mountains! And I’m naked! And I have no climbing gear! There are times when being around you is so not worth the frostbite!”

“Jesus Christ, Hotch! How much further into my life do you need to be?!” Reid exclaimed. “We live together! We work together! We sleep together! I spend almost every waking moment in your company!”

The ranger leaned out her window and watched them as they drove away. She noted the time, the vehicle, and the license number, because she had a feeling she was going to need it later. She also noted that it was going to be pouring down rain in less than an hour, if the clouds overhead were any indication.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hotch, it’s going to rain,” Reid called out from where he was sitting on the ground outside the space where Hotch intended to set up their tent. It was late Friday evening, and bugs were beginning to buzz around Reid. He swatted them away with his long, elegant fingers.

“Yes. It might,” Hotch muttered. He had seen the threatening clouds, and he had seen the sprinkles beginning to fall, how they spattered the orange tent with dark splotches.

“Hotch. Rain.”

“Yes, Reid. Water falling from the sky. I am familiar with the concept.”

“Are you telling me that tent is going to stand up to heavy rain?”

“Yes, it will, if I can get it up.”

Hotch knew immediately it was the wrong choice of vocabulary, particularly in the company of a disgruntled, bored intellectual who liked word play.

“Never been a problem before,” Spencer purred. “But I do hear it can happen as you get older. Maybe I can help?”

“No, I’ll do it myself,” Hotch called out. Then he cringed. He was only making matters worse. Reid’s face shone with merry, wicked amusement. "If you say one damned word…..” Hotch warned him. Reid feigned innocence, but his eyes were filled with mischief.

Aaron picked up a random tent pole and dived under the material. He fluffed out the edges, watching Spencer’s form through the thin slit.

“You look like a giant, grumpy, peach turnover,” Reid commented as he got up on his knees and then stumbled to his feet. “Do you want help?”

“Don’t touch a thing!" Hotch shouted.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Reid persisted. 

“REID!!”

Spencer maneuvered a pole through the slit in the collapsed tent.

“This is the center pole. You’ve got one of the side poles. No wonder you can’t get it up.”

Hotch snatched the pole from Reid and snarled at him. “Go sit in the car and quit making a nuisance of yourself!”

Reid’s amusement disappeared instantly. He tucked his chin down, stepped away from the tent, and put his hands behind his back. He retreated to the SUV without another word.

The rain started before Hotch got the tent erected. Reid watched from the vehicle as the rain and wind whipped around. It had lifted the tent flaps until Hotch secured them. For a few minutes, it had looked like he was dancing with an octopus. Once the tent was up, Hotch dove inside and stayed there. He reached out to draw his pack inside his shelter. That was the only movement Reid saw.

Even after darkness fell, Hotch stayed in his tiny tent. A diminutive light came on inside the tent. Was Aaron not coming back to the SUV to sleep? Reid fretted when he imagined how wet and miserable Aaron must have been.

But he was also secretly happy about it, because Aaron had been so rude.

Was that bad of Reid? Did that make him a bad person? He sighed guiltily and rustled around in the passenger seat of the car. He wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t thirsty. He was restless. He was annoyed. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be home, where it was air-conditioned, where there were no bugs, where he could pee in a toilet like a civilized human being.

Reid had never understood the desire to go camping in the wild. Humankind had spent thousands of years working their way from living in caves to having the modern homes with creature comforts. Why in the world would anyone eschew those comforts and go back into the wild?

Reid knew why, of course. Because it made men like Aaron Hotchner feel more manly when they could carve out a small space in nature, pop up a tent, fish in the stream for breakfast, and pee naked in the wild like an animal would. Was that what this was all about? Proving he was a man’s man? Proving he was more of a man than Reid was because he could make it in the wild, just man versus the elements?

It might be more than that. It might be. Was Reid overlooking a more obvious answer? It might be that this weekend was about Hotch proving to Reid that he was man enough to take care of him, and could provide anything he might need, even when they were in the wilderness, without modern conveniences, without the luxuries they often took for granted. Was this about Hotch proving he could be a suitable mate?

Reid wondered if Hotch was feeling insecure in their relationship. He sat and stared at Hotch’s miserable, damp tent, and hated himself for not being in there with him. He had never meant to make Aaron feel insecure. Reid only needed a little space – some breathing room – some time to himself.

Spencer unlocked the SUV door and got out. He was drenched before he reached Hotch’s tent, which was even wetter and more miserable close up than it was from afar. Should he knock? How should he knock?

Reid got down on his knees and stuck a hand through the front slit to announce his presence. He called out and then put his head inside.


	4. Chapter 4

Hotch was lying on the thin material over the ground, looking annoyed to have been disturbed. He was using his backpack as a pillow. He had a book propped up on his chest – something by Ernest Hemingway. He was reading with the help of a small, clip-on book lamp that he sometimes used on the plane going to and from cases. Reid checked himself before he rolled his eyes at such a selection of reading material.

Hemingway? Really? Could you get any more hyper-masculine?

“Do you need anything?” Reid asked, feeling and sounding like a testy waiter at an expensive restaurant. It was patently absurd to be kneeling here with his head inside and his butt outside. He was completely embarrassed that he cared so much about Aaron that he would make an ass of himself this way.

“No,” Hotch replied crisply. With that one word, he flipped his book back open, propped it up on his chest, and blatantly ignored Reid and his very presence.

Ignored him, like he wasn’t even there.

Ignored him, even though he had gone through the effort of coming all the way over here in pouring rain to check on him.

Spencer was suddenly so furious that he could have screamed. Instead, he huffed his impatience, ducked out of the tent, and stomped his way back to the SUV. He got inside the vehicle, shivering and wet, and locked the doors.

Reid pouted for about half an hour, glowering angrily at Hotch and his stupid, peachy-colored tent, as he thought very evil thoughts indeed. His anger made him warm enough that he was making weather inside the car – fogging the interior windows with a sulky, wet, gray dampness.

Reid rummaged through his satchel and pulled out a pen and some stationery. He had only brought five pages worth, thinking that would surely be enough to relay the entire miserable weekend to his mom. He began to write, and the harder the rain fell on the roof of the SUV, the more he wrote, the faster he wrote. The words poured out of him like the tears that would not fall. He used up five pages in no time, front and back and margins too.

Reid paused suddenly. He looked up at Hotch and his puffy-peachy tent. Had there been movement? He thought he had seen a flash. The edge of the tent jumped. There was a flash. The edge of the tent jumped again. A flash. Not lightning. There was a figure standing at the perimeter of the wood line. Flashes illuminated him, and then the edges of the tent would jump.

SOMEONE WAS FIRING A GUN AT HOTCH’S TENT!

Reid dumped everything from his lap into the floorboard, snatched his gun out of his satchel, and leapt out of the SUV. He slammed the SUV door and raced towards the figure that was discharging a weapon into the tent where Hotch was sleeping. The slamming of the vehicle door made the figure turn. In the pouring rain, in the darkness, Reid had no idea who it was at first. Then he saw the flash from the muzzle as the figure fired round after round, and the minute flashes illuminated the face and arm of the intruder.

It was Doug Eberhard.

A cold chill washed over Reid with the rain. His feet slipped as he ran towards them, and he put an arm down to steady himself. Eberhard was laughing at Reid’s fall.

By that time, Hotch had emerged from the tent, amazingly unscathed. The same could not be said of his volume of Ernest Hemingway, however. It was riddled with bullets and soaking wet. If this hadn’t been a very tense moment, Reid might have found this hysterically funny. He suspected somehow that Hemingway would have whole-heartedly approved of the bullet holes.

“Drop the gun, bitch,” Doug growled at Reid, aiming his weapon at Hotch.

Reid came to a stop, putting himself between Hotch and Eberhard. He tossed his gun to the ground at Eberhard’s feet. It was barely visible in the flashes of lightning and the heavy rain. Eberhard only knew it was there because Reid had landed it right at his feet. After he tossed it, Reid had second thoughts. Understandably. There were not about giving up the gun, but about having thrown it down so haphazardly. What if the damned thing had gone off when it hit the ground? What the hell was he thinking, tossing a loaded gun on the rocky ground that way? Hotch was giving him the dirtiest look.

It occurred to Reid that the only possible reason that Hotch had escaped from the tent without being hurt was that Eberhard wasn’t trying to kill them. The bullet holes that were torn through the tent were all around the perimeter. Doug might have chanced nicking a hand or a foot, but he had not been firing for the middle of the tent, where he was sure to have killed one or both of them right away. This realization did not make Reid feel any better. Not wanting them dead right away was not a good sign.

“How are you enjoying your camping trip so far?” Eberhard sneered. “Where’s the brat? Sleeping in the car?”

“He’s not here,” Hotch replied. 

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Jack is with Jessica. He’s not here,” Reid repeated. “What do you want? Why are you here?” Reid asked, keeping the questions simple and keeping his voice even.

“I’m not here, Dr. Reid. This is all a figment of your deranged mind,” Eberhard laughed.

“Are you hurt?” Reid murmured to Hotch.

“No,” Aaron answered. “Agent Eberhard, you need to stop, and you need to think about what you’re doing before anyone gets hurt,” he shouted at Eberhard, sliding right into the authoritative voice that worked so well on most people.

“But you don’t understand, Agent Hotchner. I’m not here. I’m not here at all. It’s only you and Dr. Reid, and a terrible tragedy is about to take place between you.”

Doug picked up Reid’s gun, and Spencer took another step backwards, putting himself protectively against Hotch’s chest. There was no way Eberhard was going to be able to fire at Hotch without hitting Reid.

“What tragedy?” Hotch questioned.

“A lover’s quarrel. A murder/suicide. If you weren’t about to be dead, chances are, you’d be investigating the scene. Cheer up. Maybe it will be your team standing over your dead bodies in a few hours, trying to make sense of what Dr. Reid is about to do,” Eberhard laughed.

“Agent, this is a mistake, and you know it. You’re throwing away your life. You’re throwing away your career,” Hotch continued.

“Hotch, don’t annoy him. He means to kill us, starting with you. That's the only reason he asked for my gun,” Reid murmured to Hotch.

“So you think you’ve got it all figured out?” Eberhard said, directing his comment and mocking face at Reid.

“Not everything,” Reid replied carefully.

“It’s going to be a real Greek tragedy,” Eberhard sneered, turning his eyes skyward as the rain slowed to a minor trickle. “How fitting.”

“Actually a Greek tragedy would involve…”

“Reid, be quiet,” Hotch cautioned. Reid whirled and smiled too brightly at him in reply.

“Was this all part of your plan? Oh, honey, sporadic gunfire. You thought of everything,” Reid teased sarcastically. Hotch wasn’t sure whether to smile or not. There was a gentle undertone to the sharp remark, but Reid was still very angry at Hotch.

Keeping his gun trained on both Hotch and Reid, Doug dropped his backpack to the ground and pulled out a length of rope.

“Come get the rope, genius.”

“Agent Eberhard…” Hotch started again. Doug lifted his weapon and fired it over their shoulders. A shudder of fear quaked through Reid. Hotch put a hand on Spencer’s lower back and rubbed soothingly.

“Shut your mouth, Hotchner. Don’t say another fucking word, or I’ll blow your head off!” Eberhard threatened.

“Let Hotch go, and I’ll stay,” Reid offered anxiously.

“REID! SHUT UP!” Hotch and Eberhard howled in unison.

“Let Hotch go. It’s me you’re mad at. It’s me you want to hurt. Let Hotch go. He’s got a son. He’s got…” Reid babbled.

Eberhard flung the rope at Reid’s feet.

“Tie Hotchner to the tree, that one, there,” Doug pointed as the clouds above finished raining, and light winds moved about.

Reid picked up the length of rope and pulled Hotch by the hand towards the tree in question. They slipped through the mud and Reid nearly fell again. Hotch helped him back to his feet.

"Reid, don’t do it. He’s going to kill us both once I’m no longer a threat,” Aaron cautioned as Reid stood in front of him, blocked him from harm, lashing him loosely to the tree trunk.

“You never have been a threat,” Eberhard laughed, tapping Reid on the shoulder with the butt of the gun. “Make it tight, bitch, or I’ll shoot him in the foot with the first shot.”

Reid’s expression was visible to Hotch because the gibbous moon was emerging from the clouds, lighting their campsite with her silvery beams. There was a tightness to Reid’s mouth, a look of absolute concentration. Hotch was comforted by the fact that Reid wasn’t showing fear, but he wished he knew what was going through Reid’s mind, what plans he was considering in the few minutes they had left.

“Tighter!” Eberhard yelled, pulling on the ropes to test them and stepped away again in order to keep the gun trained on them both.

“I love you. Run like hell, and don’t look back,” Reid murmured low and soft, and that was it. Run? Hotch puzzled as Reid yanked the cords with all his might, never taking his eyes off Hotch’s face. Run? How? Where? What?

Reid hoped he wasn’t sealing their death warrants as he looped the length of rope through itself and knotted the end up at Hotch’s left shoulder.

“Come with me. This is going to be fun. Stand over here. That’s right. Stand over here. Right here. Here!”

Eberhard dragged Reid away from Hotch by his hair, stopped when they were about fifteen feet from the tree. They were bathed in the faint light of the moon. Reid couldn't tear his eyes away from Aaron. Hotch realized Reid was calculating distances, and testing the wind with the one hand he put up to his shoulder as if cringing away from Eberhard.

Headlights on the road that was on the ridge far above them caught Hotch’s eyes. The vehicle was racing along Skyline Drive. Hotch watched the car, wondering at the high speed on slippery roads around dangerous curves. It had to be someone familiar with the territory to be driving like that in these conditions. Another park visitor must have heard the gunfire in the night, and had notified the park rangers. That car was probably an official vehicle, heading towards the sound of the reported gunfire.

“Whoever it is, they aren’t going to be here in time to save you, Agent Hotchner,” Eberhard mocked. He put Reid’s gun into Spencer’s shaking hands. “Now, Dr. Reid, I want you to aim your weapon at Agent Hotchner, and I want you to blow his head off. Bear in mind that if your first shot doesn’t kill him, I promise you that mine will.”

Reid trembled as he raised his arm and leveled his gun at Hotch.

“You have till the count of three to fire that revolver, Dr. Reid, or I’ll blow your head off first, and then kill Agent Hotchner. Do I make myself clear?” Eberhard growled and put the muzzle of his own gun to Reid’s left ear.

Reid remained perfectly still. Eberhard began to count.

“One….. two…. “

Reid fired his gun at Hotch, and Aaron screamed at the top of his lungs, because he wanted to attract as much attention as possible, and if gunfire didn't get any attention, surely screaming would!

Eberhard was gaping in disbelief, overwhelmed by the sudden chaos. Hotch bellowed in pain, and Doug’s first response was to run forward, to see where Reid had struck Hotch, because it had not been a fake scream. Hotch had yelled in response to very excruciating, very real pain. For half a second, Eberhard was laughing, and it was not a pretty sound. It choked off quickly though.

Doug’s brain couldn’t process what to do, because at the same moment that Hotch called out in pain, and he had been thrilled with the sound that Hotch had made, Reid had vanished from Doug’s side as if by means of the darkest magic. The fury at Reid vanishing choked away Eberhard’s horrible laughter.

Hotch clutched his left arm and shoulder, screaming again. He doubled over, rocking back and forth, and realized the bindings had slid easily away from his bleeding flesh. Reid had fired that shot in the dark at the knot that held the rope, and the knot was nearly blown away. Hotch would be free with a minimum of effort. Aaron’s eyes flashed back up to where Reid and Doug had been standing.

It was only Eberhard now, and by the gods, Doug was angry. He was positively furious! Another shot rang out in the moonlit night. Another. Another. Hotch expected to feel pain, agony, spurting blood. But instead, he realized that Doug was not firing at him. He was running in the other direction, the one away from Hotch, and he was firing his weapon at a disappearing shadow.

That disappearing shadow was Dr. Spencer Reid.

Hotch yanked at the ropes, unwinding, untwisting, wiggling up and down, and bursting away from the tree trunk. He lifted himself off the ground after his feet snagged in the ropes. He kicked the bindings angrily away from his ankles.

Getting up, he sprinted to the SUV, and got his gun from the glove box, leaving the door open, leaving the headlights on to illuminate their disarrayed campsite. As a last thought, as he was rushing away, he grabbed a fist-sized rock, and paused for what felt like forever in order to launch the rock directly at his beloved vehicle.

The rock slammed through the rear passenger window on the driver's side. Glass went everywhere. The security alarm wailed up into the night, guaranteed to disturb everyone in the near vicinity whether they wanted to be or not. Hotch took off, unsure of the path, but determined to find his way at a dead run with no idea where he was going. He only knew that if he didn't find Reid before Eberhard caught him, that Spencer was a dead man.

Hotch heard more gunfire, a cry, and then another, much more horrid scream. There was two blasts from a shotgun, and then deathly silence.


	5. Chapter 5

Reid’s feet tore through the leaves and dirt and mud, through the forest undergrowth. He ripped ferns and their delicate fiddleheads as he sped past them, racing for his life. His heart pumped frantically as bullets flew past him. He could feel night creatures in the woods start in alarm and spirit away from him. He heard the crash of hooves and the patter of smaller feet. His approach was so coarse and loud and barbaric, so human. Stealth, he reminded himself. Stealth was the key to survival in the forest. In the face of a more powerful predatory, you have to be fast, or silent and still, if you wanted to survive. But Reid wasn’t fast, and he wasn't being either silent or still.

Spencer slipped clumsily between two trees and narrowly missed a third. He could hear a figure gaining on him – feet pounding and sloshing. Whipping past the same plants Reid had damaged. Doug was laughing, excited by the thrill of the chase. Gunshots knocked splinters out of the trees that Reid had dodged around. Reid had dropped his own weapon near the campsite. He was better without it. He was faster without it. There was no way he could hit Eberhard at a dead run going away from him. The gun would only do him good at a close distance, and the last thing he wanted was to be in close range of Doug Eberhard.

Spencer lost his footing and tumbled down a steep hill. Luckily, a tree root broke his fall. He slammed his left arm and shoulder into the rough bark and cried out. He scratched his cheek on the base of the tree, and paused only long enough to take a deep breath and roll over. He got up, and took off again.

Hotch had to be okay. Reid couldn’t let himself think otherwise. Hotch had to have realized that Reid had fired the shot to free him. Reid had fled away to cause a distraction to allow Hotch time to escape. Reid knew that Eberhard wanted Reid dead more than he wanted Hotch dead. So Reid had taken the gamble in order to save Hotch, feeling certain that Eberhard would chase him instead of chasing Hotch.

But what if he was wrong? The thought that he might have chosen the wrong option terrified Reid, making him stop for the briefest second.

The flying tackle came as rather an unpleasant surprise. Reid screamed as he skated and tumbled down the hill with Eberhard. They rolled to a stop at the bottom, colliding with asphalt, Reid on the bottom, of course. They had emerged out from the cover of the trees, and into faint moonlight once more. The vast limbs full of leaves swayed overhead at the perimeter of their clearing which spanned the road. Stars and clouds whirled beyond the trees. Reid panted for breath and thought well, at least he had had a chance to see the stars, if only for a moment. What would it be like to be dead, he wondered then.

Doug Eberhard was flailing with delight as he sat on Reid’s chest and crushed Spencer's hands with either knee. Eberhard's face beamed with dark joy as he rocking up and down. Reid kicked and struggled in vain. It must have been like riding a mechanical bull, the way Reid was jerking up and down and back and forth that way.

“You know, Dr. Reid, if you had a brain, you’d be dangerous,” Eberhard mocked as he reloaded his gun with slow and careful precision. He raised his weapon and put it to Reid’s temple.

Two blasts rang out in sequence. They had come from opposite sides of the hollow, and they were so loud. Reid’s brain decided that they had created too heavy a ballistic concussion to have come from the handgun Eberhard was holding. The forest fell silent after the rapport and the echo answered each other in the hollow. Reid understood after a moment's reflection that there had only actually been one shot, not two. The echo of that one shot had rung off the trees and the rocks a second behind the first sound, creating the illusion of two shots. But there had been one single shot. Was it a rifle blast? A shotgun blast? He couldn't think straight.

Eberhard was convulsing above Reid. A heavy, strange rain sprayed over Reid’s face, into his open mouth, around his body on the asphalt. Eberhard was twitching as he crumbled down on top of Reid and stayed there. Warm wetness flowed around and over them both.

Reid swallowed unevenly and realized that he was tasting blood, and something more pungent and unsavory than blood. His tongue dragged across sharp, nasty bits. Spencer wanted to push away the train of exploratory thought before it reached its conclusion, but it was too late. He realized what he was tasting, and he spit the fragments from his mouth as he struggled to push the corpse off and away.

Someone was coming down the hill, and Reid wasn’t sure if it was friend or foe. Spencer frantically fumbled for the gun Eberhard had dropped when his head had exploded everywhere. Reid’s arm shook as he pointed the weapon at the stranger as the man approached with all the elegant caution of a wild stag.

The blond man pulled off his hunter’s hat, and ventured closer one step at a time, over to where Reid was scrambling out from under Eberhard’s corpse. He knelt down beside the doctor and the dead man. He was scratching the scar that crossed the back left quadrant of his skull. He smiled sideways, as though half of his face didn’t want to cooperate with the display of emotion. Perhaps the head injury had caused nerve damage. Perhaps he could not manage a full smile.

Once he was out in the open, in the faint moonlight, Reid finally recognized the stranger was the last unknown member of his own surveillance detail. He knew couldn’t say that, couldn’t acknowledge the connection. Maybe he had imagined that it was him. He wasn’t sure now. He hadn't seen the man up close like this before, and in the strangeness of the moment, in his fear, in his disorientation, in his surprise to find himself alive, Reid wasn't sure what was real and what he might be imagining.

“Not a bad shot,” the blond man commented of his own handiwork.

His widening grin belayed Reid’s theory about his ability to smile. But as quickly as the sign of amusement had bloomed, the man’s face fell grim once more. He took the handgun away from Reid, and set it aside with his hunting rifle on the asphalt. He studied Reid with cold, pale blue eyes that were made almost silver by the moonlight. Reid was breathing heavy and trembling. The blond man ran his hands over the doctor’s limbs and his chest, testing each of the injuries that he could see to determine for himself if Reid was in need of medical attention. The way he had done this seemed to indicate to Reid that he might in fact have had more than rudimentary medical training. Satisfied that Reid was apparently going to live, the blond man pulled out his cell phone, and dialed 911.

“Hello? Hello? Hurry please. There’s been a terrible accident," he said. He was pretending alarm, had put the right amount of concern and nervousness in his voice. It was an act for the operator, Reid knew at once.

“Hotch…” Reid stammered.

The blond man silenced him with a gentle touch to the mouth, and a stroke to the cheek. His fingers were rough and calloused, like Hotch's hands were. It had been a very intimate touch to give a complete stranger. It left Reid feeling spooked and timid.

“We’re in Shenandoah. Oh God. I’ve killed a man. I didn't mean to. It was an accident. Oh God. Please hurry," the man begged. He continued to give his voice a tremble and shake that seemed genuine, though Reid could tell it was an act.

“Hotch?” Reid stammered again. He had thought about working up to a full-fledged scream, one that might have actually caught Hotch's ears at a distance, but he didn't have the energy left. He felt like his blood had been replaced with ice water. He felt numb, and bruised, and too vulnerable.


	6. Chapter 6

Part Two - Saturday Morning

 

The clock on the wall read 4:00 a.m. It was technically early Saturday morning, but Friday night had never ended, because Reid had never gone to sleep, so calling this a new day seemed wrong. In his mind, it was the continuation of one of the roughest nights of his life, one Spencer Reid wasn’t going to forget, ever, and not just because of his eidetic memory.

The interrogation room smelled like piss and coffee and fried chicken and bad breath. Spencer felt like he was going to vomit if he had to spend much more time here. It also smelled of decaying human matter. But the problem was, Reid couldn’t leave of his own accord. He was wearing handcuffs on one wrist, and that one wrist was attached to the cold, filthy table which was smeared with the remains of a deluxe chicken dinner. There was a swipe of mashed potatoes, a drop of two of gravy, and minute slivers of chicken flesh trapped on the surface. There were biscuit crumbs everywhere. The leftover food which was clinging to the surface of the table, and the stink of death that was all over his person, made Reid struggle hard not to vomit right there.

If the room and the circumstances didn’t seem real to Reid, all he had to do was concentrate on the feeling of cold silver metal clenching his left wrist, and he was brought back to the reality of his situation. His left arm ached in pain and in sympathy. Both his hands were bruised on the palms and scraped on the backs. His entire body hurt. Spencer did not miss the irony of being in the opposite role from the one he usually occupied when it came to interrogation rooms and handcuffs. But having been in the opposite role, he knew better than most that the best response was no response, no matter what they said to you.

“They” were the two other men who occupied the claustrophobic space with him. In spite of his worry, in spite of the aching, gnawing fear that was eating through his stomach and headed for his liver, Reid hadn’t been an idle boy while he had been in police custody in rural Virginia. No. He had profiled the hell out of his two jailers.

The first one was a hot-headed rookie who was eager to make his mark in his new occupation. No more than a month into his position here in beautiful Grottoes, Virginia, Deputy Sparks wanted to prove to everyone that he was born into this job – to protect his beloved town from the influx of crime and sin and outsiders from the evil metropolises of Washington, DC and Richmond, VA. Unfortunately, Reid was a physical manifestation of everything this deputy hated in the world, and therefore Sparks had been everything one might have expected – rude, hostile, violent, abrasive, annoying.

“God knows what you did. I know what you did. You know what you did. All you have to do is open your mouth, and tell us the whole story, and then you can go,” the youthful rookie growled, getting nose to nose with Reid and slamming a yellow ruled tablet down in front of him. He slapped a pen down as well, and Reid recognized the pen as one that he had been carrying in his satchel.

His satchel had been breached then, its contents carefully analyzed, catalogued, and studied. That’s what had taken them so long. Reid stared down at the pen and to soothe his mind, he mentally recounted the contents of his satchel:

Information files for the Thompson case – beheadings in California

Information files for the Reeves case – family annihilator in Minnesota

Information files for the Simmons case – rapes and strangulations in South Carolina

A flashlight; his modified taser-mouse; two partially-used, lined, yellow steno pads; his handcuffs and handcuff key; three granola bars; a bottle of lube and two condoms; thirteen paperclips; a dollar and thirty cents in loose change; Garcia’s instructions on how to use his Gmail account; a printed copy of Mouse’s last email about how much fun spring break had been and how much she was looking forward to summer break; a racy novel entitled “The Pounding Sea”; and his iPod and earbuds.

There was also a picture that Jack had drawn and folded and pushed into Reid’s satchel sometime back in early December —it was of Hotch and Reid and Jack as a family. Hotch was wearing a tie and holding a gun, in spite of the casts that he was saddled with. Jack had drawn himself with a tie and a gun as well. Reid was standing in the middle between them, holding one of Jack’s hands. Spencer had been drawn with long hair and a ballooned-belly that obviously indicated pregnancy. Reid could just imagine what kind of psychological meanings the Grottoes Police Department was interpreting from Jack’s innocent drawing.

The drawing had appeared in Reid’s bag shortly after Reid had asked Jack what he most wanted for Christmas. Spencer had kept the drawing because something about it touched him—made him sad and happy at the same time. They had been on the way to school when having the conversation. The boy’s immediate response had been that he wanted a younger brother or sister. Reid had tried to explain to Jack that it might be difficult if not impossible to get him a younger sibling on such short notice. Jack had said that next Christmas would be okay too if there wasn’t one available yet. He said he understood supply and demand, and a lot of his classmates had gotten younger siblings recently, so he would understand if they were in short supply in Heaven right at the moment.

Jack had then suggested that in lieu of a younger sibling, he would settle for a pitbull puppy, because Bobby’s dad had gotten he and his brothers a pitbull puppy, and Boomer was like the best thing ever, according to Bobby. Spencer had never met this mysterious Bobby, but he was the epitome of everything Jack thought was cool to begin with, so if Bobby recommended getting a pitbull puppy, Jack was going to listen. Reid remembered the conversation very well.

“A pitbull? Do you know how many of those dogs have attacked their owners or owners’ family members?” Reid had fretted.

“But they’re cooooool,” Jack protested. “They’re tough. They’re protective.”

“Sweetheart, I would sooner drive to Jurassic Park, and buy you a pet velociraptor before I would let you have a pet pitbull,” Reid had stated sharply, as if the decision would ever have been his to make.

Jack’s eyes went wide with excitement and awe.

“You could get me a velociraptor?” he squealed. “Wait till I tell Bobby!!”

Jack had sprinted out of the car and into the school before Reid was able to tell him how impossible the pet velociraptor would be. He returned that afternoon grumpy and embarrassed, because Bobby had laughed at him when he talked about getting a pet dinosaur.

That evening while fixing dinner, Reid had explained to Jack that he had been exaggerating for dramatic effect, and how it was almost impossible to get him a pet velociraptor because they were extinct. Then Reid had diverged into thoughts about how the technology wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility, not with the advancements that were being made in genetic sciences, particularly in cloning. Maybe someday, with thirty or forty years of further advancements, Jack could look forward to having a pet velociraptor for his fiftieth birthday, if he concentrated very hard on his science homework now.

At that point, Hotch had come in the kitchen and given Reid a very alarmed and angry look. Hotch had said one word, 'No'. That was all it took. Any further discussion of velociraptors as pets had ended then and there. Jack was smiling through dinner though. The picture had appeared in Reid's bag shortly after that.

Spencer hoped nobody had been able to reach Jessica or Jack in the middle of the night. He hoped that they could resolve this situation as quickly and quietly as possible, so Jack would never have to hear the horrible words: “Dr. Spencer Reid tried to kill your father”. Because no matter how often these two men repeated the charges at Reid, Spencer knew it was not the truth, and he didn’t want Jack thinking for one moment that it was.

To calm himself, Reid returned his mind to cataloging the contents of his satchel. It had also held six pens, including this one that was staring back at him from the yellow tablet. One pen was from home; one from work; one from his favorite coffee shop; one from Bubbles’ bookstore; one which had belonged to his mother and hadn’t worked in decades but he carried it with him regardless; and finally, this one, a gift from Aaron. Well, not true. Not a gift. Reid had taken it from Hotch's pencil cup seemingly by accident the first year he had worked with the BAU. Carrying the pen had made him feel closer to Hotch – having part of him with him always. Maybe it was a way of protecting his mom and protecting Hotch too – an ancient magic superstition that echoed in Spencer’s brain about keeping a piece of someone with you to protect them from harm.

His credentials had been in his bag, of course, and his badge—so these idiots knew they were holding a federal agent and that probably had only excited them further, the prospect of arresting an FBI agent for murder or attempted murder. He could imagine the theories running around in their tiny little brains. Let them continue to wonder. Spencer Reid knew better than to say one, single word beyond what he had already said: “I want a phone call. I want my lawyer.”

The unfinished letter to his mother was in the satchel too. The police officer must have picked up all the items that Reid had tossed in the floorboard when he jumped out of the vehicle and rushed to Hotch’s rescue. Thinking about the events of a few mere hours ago made Reid tremble.

Reid had started the letter by flashlight as he had hunkered down alone in Hotch’s SUV, listening to rain pounding on the roof, and angrily watching out the windshield as Hotch slept in his misshapen, soggy, water-logged tent about twenty yards away from the vehicle.

Reid did wince when he thought about the letter – it was a litany of all the things about Hotch that were driving him ape-shit crazy. He had begun to compose the letter while in a serious fit of pique. No, that letter wasn’t going to look good. The wince blossomed into half a smile, and then a smirk. Reid pulled himself into a tight ball, and once again forced down the desperate need to pee.

It was, without a doubt, a heinous, mean, spiteful letter, filled with vitriol about how arrogant and domineering and possessive and jealous Aaron could be. How he vacillated between smothering Reid with parental concern and conversely forcing him to face his worst fears. How he didn’t want Reid to go alone to the coffee shop on Sundays because one of the young counter workers was far too friendly with Spencer for Hotch’s liking. How Hotch left unfinished cups of coffee on this desk in the study. How Hotch left the toilet seat up, which to Reid was the height of uncivilized behavior in any household.

That letter. Oh, shit. That letter. Reid remembered the last line he had finished:

‘Mom, I swear, there are times when all I can think about is sneaking up on him in his sleep, putting a pillow over his face, climbing on his big hairy chest, and smothering the life right out of him’.

Reid could imagine it now – a trial in a big courtroom. His letter on its tidy stationery would be on display against the far wall, expanded to the largest size possible. His venomous statements would be splashed up there for everyone to see. The jury would be asked to read those words and decide for themselves what they thought of the guilt or innocence of Dr. Spencer Reid.

Reid stopped himself from chuckling. The rookie Sparks twitched and frowned, and glanced to his superior officer for direction.

Sheriff Elliott was a completely different kind of police officer from Sparks. Elliott was cautious. He was intelligent. He was thoughtful. He was focused. He was meticulous. He wore a mustache that he used almost like a third eyebrow, as emphasis for his words or his silences. A single twitch of that mustache spoke volumes. Elliott was annoyed too at the moment – didn’t like having this case dropped in his lap in the middle of the night without any warning, and on a weekend to boot.

Elliott would not tolerate being toyed with, and though part of Reid desperately wanted to push every button he knew would send Sparks ranting and screaming and slamming about their tiny enclosure in an effort to make Spencer confess to what he had in fact not done, Reid had held himself in check, knowing that Elliott was watching his every move with all the calculation of a chess champion. Reid knew right away that he should not annoy Sheriff Elliott any further.

“Dr. Reid, we can sit here and wait as long as you can,” Elliott spoke up finally. "Let's cooperate with each other. Put an end to this. Tell me what you did with Aaron Hotchner's body."

“I’ll wait for my lawyer,” Reid said, low and soft.

“Maybe your lawyer got lost. Maybe he’s not coming. Maybe you better start talking, Doctor, before… “ Sparks interrupted.

“That’s enough, Jesse. Wait outside,” Sheriff Elliott interjected, calm and smooth and unruffled. Sparks choked, went red, and forced his chair back in order to launch himself to his feet and stomp out of the interrogation room. The door slammed dramatically. Elliott waited. Reid stared down at the table top and flexed and bent his left hand. The cuffs weren’t cutting off circulation, but he was stiff and tired, and his arm hurt. His whole body ached.

Silence prevailed again for a stretch of time. Reid distracted himself by picking up the pen and jotting down the contents of his satchel on the lined, yellow paper. He turned the tablet towards Elliott and slid it over to him. The sheriff read the page, and blinked at Reid. He shifted his chair, moved to the center of his edge of the table, and stared at Reid some more. Then he sat up straight in his chair, leaned his elbows on the table, and piled his fingers together to hold his thin chin. Elliott was running his intelligent blue eyes over the bruises and bumps and cuts and marks that stood out lividly on Reid’s body. He could not have missed the blood sprays that also covered the doctor, nor the dots of grayish matter.

“You didn’t get those injuries shooting a man from a distance, that much is for sure. No, you were at ground zero when that second man was shot. You didn’t kill Agent Eberhard yourself,” Elliott commented. “But that doesn’t erase the fact that you fired your weapon at Agent Aaron Hotchner. We found your gun on the ground near your campsite. Blood. A severed rope. Shell casings. Bullet holes in one of the trees. Indications that at least two people fled into the woods after smashing the car window and setting off the alarm.”

Reid’s eyes narrowed at this. Elliott’s mustache rippled. Reid vaguely remembered while chasing away into the forest that he had in fact heard Hotch’s car alarm screaming up into the night. Had Hotch thrown the rock through the car window to initiate the alarm? Damn, Hotch was good. Reid was impressed that in the heat of the moment, Hotch had been able to think of something like that.

“We haven’t found Agent Hotchner’s body, but it’s only going to be a matter of time before we locate him. Or, you can tell me what happened. Was it Eberhard who fired your weapon at Agent Hotchner, or did you do it? We found your fingerprints on the weapon, and his as well. Were you acting in concert with one another? Was that the plan? You were supposed to lure Hotchner into the woods, and together you and Eberhard would kill Hotchner?”

Reid was sure that under other circumstances, he and Elliott could have been colleagues and could have worked well together on cases. Spencer had nothing but respect for how the sheriff carried and conducted himself. But that was the game, wasn’t it? Make yourself likeable and the suspect will talk. Elliott was working him, working him hard.

“You’ve had a bad night. I suppose you’d like some sleep? The sooner you talk, the sooner I will take you back to a cell so you can lie down.”

Reid lifted a brow and looked down at the table, fighting the urge to yawn. He was tired, drained of all energy, and feeling shaky. He sighed, and almost gave in.


	7. Chapter 7

The door burst open, and Reid recoiled violently in terror. The sheriff did not miss Reid’s reaction to the sudden and unexpected intrusion. A thin blonde woman of medium height in a dark blue military dress uniform entered the room, and set her badge down on the table.

“Good Morning. I’m Lieutenant Amy Spaulding. You must be Sheriff Elliott?”

Spaulding waited as the sheriff stood up and faced her. Her eyes centered on Reid, and flared with concern. He saw her studying his injuries and his condition, and he blushed with shame, looking away from her and back towards the doorway. He caught his breath, and his eyes went wide.

“Ma’am,” the sheriff said, picking up her badge and giving it back to her. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here to take custody of Dr. Reid.”

“Are you?” Sheriff Elliott questioned in a tone that said it would be a cold day in Houston before he agreed to that request. “What does the CIA want with Dr. Reid? I was under the impression he belonged to the FBI. At the moment, he belongs to me, at least until such time as we sort this matter out to my satisfaction.”

Spaulding’s eyes were all over Reid again. Reid wasn’t looking at Spaulding though. He was looking up at the man now standing in the doorway of the interrogation room. Spencer blinked away the moisture in his eyes, and gave a relieved snort which would have been an out-and-out sob if they had not been in the company of others.

“Are you okay?” Reid asked as he quivered.

“Only a flesh wound. Quick thinking. Thanks,” Hotch replied, rubbing his own left shoulder.

“Who are you?” Sheriff Elliott asked, facing the door. Hotch handed him his credentials, and the sheriff frowned as he scanned them. “Agent Aaron Hotchner. That's a relief. I can call off the search for your body, at least.”

“Sheriff, I’ve been reading the charges that you have filed against Dr. Reid, and I think it's only reasonable you drop these altogether,” Hotch said.

“Which charges should I drop, exactly?” the sheriff asked. “Did he or did he not shoot you?”

“He shot me, but it was not attempted murder. He certainly wasn’t working with Agent Eberhard to kill me. If you would give us a chance to explain?”

“Dr. Reid has been here this long, and hasn’t said squat to me. You’re his supervisor.”

“And his lawyer,” Hotch added with a merry twinkle in his eyes.

“So why don’t you make him talk?” 

“I’ll do my best.”

“Your best? A man is dead because of him.”

“Lieutenant Spaulding has briefed me on the situation. I've read the reports from the second park ranger on the scene, and your officer on the scene, both of whom state that Agent Doug Eberhard was killed by a hunter who was in the park forest.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that a complete stranger happened upon this confrontation at the exact moment when it was a life or death situation?”

“Not based on my word alone. But I have been to the morgue, and I have examined the decedent’s wounds, which are consistent with a weapon fired at a range of about twenty yards. I believe what we’re going to find, as soon as the FBI labs are finished with the ballistics tests, is that Agent Doug Eberhard was killed by a shot fired from the weapon of the man who gave his statement to the park ranger and your officer. I don’t understand why you’re even holding Dr. Reid.”

“You were missing, and presumed dead. A second man is most assuredly dead. I have an investigation to conduct. As he is a material witness, I can hold Dr. Reid at my discretion. Have you looked at him? He is my crime scene.”

Hotch’s eyes ran over Reid and lingered at the rougher spots. He reached across the table and caressed the hand that was cuffed there. Reid held onto those rough, calloused fingers until Hotch pulled his hand away.

“The hunter gave your men his statement hours ago. He came upon Eberhard and Dr. Reid involved in a physical confrontation, and judging that Eberhard meant to cause mortal injury to Dr. Reid, the hunter fired his weapon to separate them. He was aiming over their heads, but Eberhard moved at the last second, and the shot took him square in the back of the skull,” Hotch reiterated, watching Reid for his reaction.

That did it. As the moment of impact flashed back in Reid’s mind, and he tasted that taste in his mouth again, his nausea overwhelmed him. Spaulding anticipated the reason Reid rattled his cuffed left hand and frantically covered his mouth with his right. She grabbed the small trash can outside the room, and stuffed it into Reid’s lap in the nick of time as he emptied the contents of his stomach.

The sheriff released Reid’s left hand from the table as the doctor doubled over again.

“Where is your men’s room?” Spaulding asked. Reid’s head was spinning. He threw up a third time, but he couldn’t raise anything but bile and saliva. “Men’s room?” Spaulding questioned again.

“Down the hall on your left,” Elliott answered. “Sparks!"

“I got him,” Spaulding said brusquely as she clasped an arm around Reid and supported him. When Sparks moved to intervene (a woman in the men’s room!?) Spaulding stopped him dead in his tracks by barking orders at him. “Deputy, I said, I’ve got him! Make yourself useful! Get some water or some 7-Up. Move!”

Sheriff Elliott stood beside Hotch in the hallway and watched as the deputy rookie leapt to obey the Lieutenant’s sharp commands. Hotch was fighting concern and the need to check on Reid himself. Elliott was frowning for all he was worth.

“Agent Hotchner, why don’t you and I adjourn to my office and discuss this over a cup of coffee?” the sheriff murmured. “We’ll wait for the ballistics report from your people and the rest of the witness statements from mine.”

“I could use some coffee,” Aaron replied. 

“How’s your arm?” Elliott murmured.

“I’m fine,” Hotch said, and nothing more. He followed the lanky man to the office at the end of the hallway which opened up into a spectacular view of the small city of Grottoes, with the vast expanse of Shenandoah National Park laid out beyond it. It would be a better view as the day went on and the light grew brighter. For the moment, it was a nice view. But it would be nicer later.

“Would you like to start at the beginning? I’ve got a witness at the park entry point who says that you two were arguing when you first crossed into the national forest on Friday evening, approximately nine hours ago.” the sheriff said.

“Friday evening? That seems like forever ago. We were arguing?” Hotch wondered to himself. “I mean, we were bickering a little. Reid didn’t want to be there, and I was disappointed, because I had made all these plans. He was acting like a spoiled child and I was mad at him.”

“So you were arguing?” Sheriff Elliott said.

"It was a discussion, not an argument,” Hotch shrugged.

“Sounds like an argument to me,” Elliott commented with a wry, thin smirk. “Start before that. Before you got to the park. Before you were arguing.”


	8. Chapter 8

“I gave everyone Friday afternoon off,” Hotch said. 

“Everyone?”

“The entire team. I didn’t want them to think I was playing favorites with Reid,” Hotch explained. Sheriff Elliott nodded as if he understood. “I popped my head in my boss’s office to let her know that I was leaving for the day. Where I would be.”

“Was she alone?”

“No. Winslow was with her.” 

“Who is Winslow?” Elliott asked.

“He’s the Physical Training Unit Chief – an assistant director like Strauss. He's Agent Eberhard's boss."

“And you said?”

“That I was leaving for the weekend. He asked what my plans were. Strauss told him I was taking my son Jack camping.”

“But you weren’t taking your son, you were taking your…. boyfriend?” Elliott offered, not sure what word to use.

“Significant other,” the female officer called out from the far side of the outside office area.

“Thank you, Nancy,” Elliott called back. His mustache twitched with amusement but he swallowed the chuckle back. “Assistant Director Winslow must have told Agent Eberhard what your plans were.”

“If he did, he didn’t do it out of spite. Winslow isn’t the sort who would wish harm anyone,” Hotch insisted quickly.

“How can you be so sure?” Sheriff Elliott asked. Aaron blew on his coffee and shook his head to clear his thoughts, to dispel the mental image of Strauss and Winslow in their private meeting. What had they been discussing before he burst in?

“I had never met him in person before yesterday, but I know Winslow by reputation. A good, solid man. Reliable. Level-headed.”

“But he must have mentioned in passing conversation what he heard you say to your supervisor, and Agent Eberhard, learning your weekend plans, took this as an opportunity to….what? Plot your demise? Exact his revenge? Follow you?”

“Yes.”

“As far as Winslow knew, you were taking your son along.”

Hotch shuddered and sipped his coffee again. He couldn't let himself think about how differently the events of last night might have ended if Jack had been with them. He couldn't let his mind go there. It terrified him too much to think of Jack in danger, because it brought the ghost of George Foyet back to hover over him. Hotch vividly remembered the feeling of Haley's cold body as he lifted her from the floor, cradling her, crying hard. How close had he come last night to living the same dreadful, horrible events with Reid? How close had he come to losing Spencer the same way he had lost Haley? If Jack had been there, he would have lost Jack too. Hotch’s heart raced with fear and dread at the idea of losing both of the people that he loved best in the world.

“You’ll forgive me if I find it hard to believe that Agent Eberhard could hear you were going to Shenandoah, and then all he would have to do is drive down from DC, and drive around the park until he found you. It’s a big park,” Elliott said.

Hotch scoffed, “If you’ve had any kind of surveillance training, which Eberhard has had as an FBI agent, it would have been very simple to locate us in the park. My SUV was parked at the trail head where we were camped, and we weren’t camped far from the trail head itself. I’m sure he knows the license plate number. He’s spent enough nights following Reid and I home from work," Hotch blurted.

“He’s followed you home from work?” Elliott frowned.

“He has.”

“Why?”

“It’s a long story.”

"Can you substantiate this claim? Did you file police reports? Did anyone else besides you or Dr. Reid see Eberhard?" Elliott asked anxiously.

Hotch knew he couldn't talk about Reid's security detail, and Reid had not permitted Hotch to file a police report, but he was pretty sure that Reid's paranoid neighbor with high-powered binoculars had seen Eberhard.

“We didn’t file police reports, but the neighbor has seen him as well.”

“Dr. Reid didn’t say that Eberhard had been following you two home, but then he hasn't said much at all," the sheriff lamented. “I think he might be in shock.”

“Maybe he was afraid you wouldn't believe him,” Hotch offered.

“I need to know more. Knowing the backstory would help me understand this situation,” Elliott cajoled.

“Reid has had trouble with Eberhard before. They don’t like one another.”

“News I find incredibly shocking, considering what has happened,” Elliott commented dryly. “Why do they not like one another?”

“It’s complicated.” 

“I’m sure it is.”

“Eberhard is a hot-tempered…” 

“Was…”

“….was a hot-tempered rough man with certain ideas about who should qualify to be a federal agent. It was his feeling that Dr. Reid didn’t deserve to carry his credentials because Reid can’t bench press a Volkswagen or body slam a professional wrestler.”

“A sentiment you don’t share?”

“We all have different talents, and physical prowess is not one of Dr. Reid’s strong suits. That doesn’t mean Reid isn’t able to offer many things as a federal agent. He's a genius. He's an expert profiler. You know what he’s capable of.”

“Yes,” Elliott murmured, staring at Hotch’s wounded left shoulder. “I have a pretty firm grasp on what Dr. Reid is capable of, and it’s not all good.”

“Eberhard didn’t like Reid because Reid is an intellectual.”

“Their bad blood had nothing to do with Reid being gay? Nothing to do with your relationship with your subordinate co-worker? Nothing to do with Eberhard being uncomfortable with your lifestyle?”

“Is this a ploy? You want me to get angry and defend my lifestyle to you? I understand the process, the tactics, the way things work. I'm not going to get angry. I don't care what you, or Eberhard, or anyone else thinks of my relationship with Dr. Reid. It’s not a lifestyle. It's our life. But, honestly, no. I don't think that's what this was about. Our relationship might have annoyed Eberhard. It might have raised his homophobic hackles. But he and Reid had nasty disagreements long before Reid and I were ever involved. Bad ones. The recent ones were getting worse though.”

“They have had prior confrontations?”

“Reid reported Eberhard for sexually harassing the female cadets in the training classes.”

“Were the allegations true or untrue?”

“True,” Hotch replied. “Everyone knows it’s true.”

“Dr. Reid jeopardized Agent Eberhard’s career. That probably didn’t sit well with him,” Elliott speculated.

“No. It did not. Before, their disagreements were always verbal, but a few weeks ago, they got into an actual fight in the physical training rooms at Quantico. Reid broke Eberhard’s nose, and Eberhard broke Reid’s ribs.”

“That’s what I need to know, Agent Hotchner. A pattern of prior confrontations would seem to indicate an increasing pattern of violence and hostility between them. It goes towards Eberhard’s motive to go through the effort of tracking you down here in Shenandoah. It bolsters your insistence that Eberhard acted alone, and your claim that Dr. Reid was not trying to kill you. See? Aren’t you glad you opened up to me?”

“You should be discussing this with Dr. Reid.” 

“I would prefer to be discussing this with him, yes. But he’s not talking to me, and you are, so this is where we are, what we must settle for. You and I talking. You giving me your perspective of the situation. Hopefully you can convince Reid to open up to me as well. Now. If you and Reid were at the campsite together, how did Eberhard surprise you alone?”

“We weren’t sleeping together.”

“Why were you not together if the whole point of going camping was to have together-time?”

“We had a fight.”

“So you did enter the park arguing?” Elliott smiled.

“We weren’t arguing at that point, but the exchange of words escalated as the evening went on," Hotch frowned.

“Escalated?”

“It had a lot to do with the rain.” 

“The rain?”

“The rain,” Hotch nodded. “I was pitching the tent. He was being annoying. I snapped at him, told him to go sit the car and leave me alone.”

“So you were sleeping in the tent, which you successfully raised? Reid was in your car, not sleeping, but composing this masterpiece,” Elliott said, sliding Reid’s letter to his mother over the desk to Hotch. Aaron gave the tidy stationery and its angry vitriol a sideways glance. He was smiling, looking wistful, almost amused.

“He can be testy when you upset him. I shouldn’t have snapped at him.”

“That’s all you have to say about this? It doesn’t surprise you? It doesn’t bother you? It doesn’t worry you.”

“I know he writes to his mom about what’s going on in his life. We argued. He was upset. He was venting his feelings to his mother. That’s all.”

“Did you know that he fantasizes about killing you?

“Sheriff, how long have you been married?” Hotch asked, pointing to Elliott’s ring on his hand.

“Thirty-seven years. Sue and I dated through high school, and got married a week after graduation.”

“In those thirty-seven years, you haven’t once rolled over in the middle of the night and thought, ‘One pillow, five minutes, and she will never annoy me again’?"

"Oh, Sue and I have had our differences over the years," the sheriff admitted.

"My wife Haley and I were together for a lot less than thirty-seven years, and there were times I spent hours thinking of every way I could kill her. Trust me. The fact that Reid fantasizes about killing me when he’s mad at me? That doesn’t bother me in the slightest," Hotch said, then wondered why the sheriff was smiling again.

"Do you consider what you and Dr. Reid have together to be a marriage?"

"Yes," Hotch replied. The sheriff nodded and wrote a few more words in his notes. Elliott noticed Hotch's narrowed eyes, and made a conciliatory face as he continued writing.

"I'm not making judgments about you or your lifestyle, Agent Hotchner. I'm making observations. That's how I do my job. I observe. I'm sure you are very familiar with the process."


	9. Chapter 9

Lieutenant Spaulding knocked at the restroom door, and entered when Reid answered.

“Come in.”

“You okay?” she asked, ducking in, closing and locking the door. Reid was lying flat on the black and white tile floor, one arm over his face. He was splayed out and breathing funny. He snickered unsteadily and lowered his arm. The freezing-cold floor had been like an ice pack against his aching body. He was reluctant to move.

“No,” he decided flatly.

“It’s filthy down there. You should sit up.”

Spaulding lifted Reid to a seated position and thrust a chilled bottle of 7-Up into his grip. Spencer took an experimental sip, and it stayed down, so he took another. He scooted an inch or two in order to put his back and his head against the end wall of the small room.

“Thanks," he said.

“You’re welcome," she replied.

Amy sat down on the floor with him, maneuvering her dress uniform skirt in order to get down without embarrassing either one of them. Reid gave her a tiny smile and narrowed his eyes at her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress.”

“I’ve never seen you in a dress either, smart ass, so we’re even,” Spaulding replied. Reid smiled tiredly. “Dr. Reid, how do you get yourself into these situations?” Amy wondered quietly.

“Lieutenant, it’s ridiculous that in this day and age, your dress uniform does not come with pants,” Reid said, avoiding the question.

“Don’t kid yourself – this day and age? Not all that much has changed. They might let me serve my country, but these guys aren’t going to let me forget for one minute that my vagina makes me less of a soldier.”

“I know how you feel.”

“Respectfully, sir, you haven’t got the first clue how I feel as a woman in a man’s world. But with very few exceptions, all I ever felt from the male soldiers was distrust, and dislike, and annoyance. I wasn't a fellow solider to most of the men. I was a second-class citizen, someone who needed to go home, and make myself useful there by making dinner or making babies, and leave the fighting to them. They could not look past my gender, and see me as a soldier. They could and never would see me as an equal. So, please, don't tell you know how I feel as a woman."

“No. You’re right. That’s fair. I don’t know what it’s like to be a woman in the military. But I do understand what it’s like to be seen as less than a man.”

"Dr. Reid, not everyone measures men by the same standard," Spaulding soothed, gently taking his arm and petting it. “Believe me when I tell you, the more I know men, the less I trust the ones who are all muscle and machismo. So what if you aren't physically threatening? Don’t be so hard on yourself. Frank said you were holding your own against….”

“Holding my own? Eberhard would have killed me. There are no two ways about that. Frank? Is that his name?” Reid asked, desperate for a change of topic in order to soothe Spaulding's bare emotions, and his own for that matter.

“Lieutenant Richard Franklin. Former Marine, like Miles. His file is sealed so tight, even he doesn’t know what’s in it.”

“Tried to have a look, have you?”

“He’s been with General Scott longer than any of the rest of us. As near as I can tell, the average duty rotation is between three and five years. Except that Frank has been around from the beginning.”

“Curious,” Reid decided, grateful for the distraction. “He must be older than he looks.”

“I think the general keeps Frank around to give him focus. If not, he’d be out there doing who knows what to who knows whom. He hasn’t been the same since… hmm… you know…” she murmured, tracing a line from above her left ear around to the nape of her neck. “That scar,” Amy shuddered. “You’d think he would grow his hair over it, cover the thing up. It’s like he’s proud of it, wants to show it off to everyone, wants to scare everyone with what a bad-ass he is.”

“All muscle and machismo?" 

"Oh, Doc, he is such an ass." 

"What happened to him?”

“I haven’t asked, and he’s never volunteered. I don’t like doing shifts with him.”

“Why not?”

“He makes me uncomfortable. He's got shark eyes.” 

“You don’t like him?”

“It’s not about like or don’t like. But there’s something cold about Frank, something cold and unfeeling and unfunny. He’s a lean, mean, killing machine, as they like to say.”

Reid stared at Spaulding and waited for further explanation.

“He’s got no qualms, Dr. Reid. We need qualms.” 

“At the moment, I am all qualms," Reid joked. Spaulding chuckled.


	10. Chapter 10

“So you were sleeping in the tent, getting drenched?” Elliott asked Hotch.

“No. It was dry inside,” Aaron insisted.

“You were sleeping in the tent, and Dr. Reid was sleeping in the vehicle. Actually, not sleeping in the vehicle. Dr. Reid was in the vehicle, plotting how to kill you in your sleep,” Sheriff Elliott was saying as he flipped open the folder that had been handed to him by the female officer who stood to the side of his desk and waited. “Thanks, Nancy. Great job. What would I do without you? That’ll be all."

Hotch studied the other officer as she left the room only because she was giving him such a distrustful glance. Female, late twenties, unhappy. She was older than Deputy Sparks, had been there longer than he had, had probably expected to be chosen to fill the position that Sparks now filled. Had that created tension in the department? Why hadn't Elliott chosen Nancy to be his deputy instead of hiring a fresh-faced male recruit? Her reports were perfect, neat, and tidy. Her uniform was a little tight, but still immaculate and well-kept. Her love of her job showed in her appearance and her performance. She might have gained a pound or two in the last few weeks. That was why her uniform was tight. Was she an emotional eater? Was it hard for her, dealing with seeing Sparks in the job she had wanted, a job she deserved as a senior employee? Did she feel Sparks had been chosen over her due to her gender?

Aaron wondered what Reid would have made of Nancy. He glanced down the hall towards the door to the men’s room, hoping Reid would be back soon. Deputy Sparks was there, standing watch outside the door. As Nancy walked past, Sparks made a subtle face at her. She ignored him, strode back to her desk, sat down with a thump, and reached for a pen.

She made notations in the official log book on her desk, and frowned to herself as she concentrated on her job.

Elliott had watched Sparks mocking Nancy, and he nodded his approval that Nancy had not responded but had gotten right back to work. That's when it hit Hotch. Elliott had chosen Sparks to be deputy because he trusted Nancy to do a better job managing the department when he was out on calls. Elliott knew Nancy was a more capable officer than Sparks was, because she was even-tempered and intelligent, like Elliott was. Elliott saw himself in Nancy, and in spite of what outward appearances might had said, he was grooming her to be sheriff one day by giving her run of the office. Sparks was nothing but a rowdy and rough guard dog, and one day, Nancy was going to be holding his leash. The idea of that made Hotch smile to himself.

“What was your first indication that there was trouble?” Sheriff Elliott asked Hotch.

“Hmm? First indication? Bullets flying through the tent. They woke me up,” Hotch replied, turning back around.

“There’s Eberhard, wielding a gun at you?”

“The first thing I saw was Reid, putting himself between me and Eberhard.”

“He what?” Elliott frowned.

“He put himself between me and Doug. I don’t know what Reid was thinking, pulling a stunt like that.”

“Maybe he was thinking he would rather get shot than see you get shot?” Elliott suggested grimly. “One thing I do know – those are not the actions of a man who wants you dead.”

“I told you from the start that Reid wasn’t trying to kill me,” Hotch defended.

“Did you argue with Reid? Did you argue with Eberhard? Did Reid argue with Eberhard? How do we get from the point where your co-worker has followed into the woods to the point where he means to kill you?”

“It happened so fast,” Hotch stammered. “I remember Reid getting between me and Eberhard. Doug was mocking Reid. He asked where Jack was. We told him Jack was at home with my sister-in-law Jessica, which is the truth, but he didn’t believe us at first.”

“Go on.”

“Reid deduced that Eberhard meant to kill us. Doug said he was going to make it look like a murder/suicide.”

“How?”

“He was going to use Reid’s gun to kill me, and then I suppose use Reid’s gun to kill Reid as well.”

“Who tied you to the tree?”

“Eberhard made Reid tie me to the tree.” 

“Made him how?”

“He had us both at gunpoint, and made Reid tie me up.”

“Okay,” Elliott nodded. “So. You’re tied up. You’re fearing for your life. You’re worried about Reid. Reid? Why do you call your boyfriend by his last name?”

“What?” Hotch paused, distracted by the question. 

“Significant other,” Nancy called out again.

“We’re engaged. I gave him a ring. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not my significant other. He’s my partner. Okay? Is that all right? He’s my partner!” Hotch called out, turning around to give Nancy a dirty look. She smirked and made more notations in her log book.

Deputy Sparks rolled his eyes and paced back and forth in the hallway. He was muttering to himself, probably something to do with all the homosexuals who inhabited Washington, and how he wished they would stay there. Hotch did manage to ignore him, but it was difficult.

“Where were we? You were tied to the tree. Eberhard had a gun on you.”

“No, he was pointing his gun at Reid.” 

“Eberhard was pointing Reid’s gun at Reid?”

“Eberhard was pointing his own gun at Reid. He was pointing his own gun at Reid, not Reid’s gun. Reid was pointing his gun at me, because Eberhard wanted him to shoot me and make it look like murder.”

“Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere. Eberhard had to have given Reid back his own gun, if the intent was for you to be shot with Reid’s gun. Eberhard was holding his own gun on Reid, and Reid was pointing his own gun at you.”

“Yes,” Hotch agreed, flustered.

“Why didn’t Reid shoot Eberhard instead of shooting you? He was closer to Doug than he was to you. It would have been an easy shot – take off a foot, aim for a kneecap, maybe even go for the groin?”

“Reid shot me because he wanted to create a distraction. He needed chaos to keep Eberhard off his game. Shooting Eberhard first would have made Doug angry. He would have immediately shot Reid and then shot me. Reid knew that.”

“How was Eberhard going to explain how Reid and you both came to be shot with his gun instead of Reid’s gun? There would be no way to write that off as a murder/ suicide,” Elliott protested.

“Yeah, well, he was crazy. He had snapped. How the fuck do I know how he was planning to explain it?” Hotch grumbled angrily. “Reid shot me instead of Eberhard, because he didn’t want me to get hurt.”

“What?!” Elliott exclaimed.

“You know what I mean!” Hotch muttered, struggling with his temper again. “Reid was hoping to hit the knot that was holding the ropes, hoping to give me a chance to get away. The split second after he shot me, when I was screaming and bleeding, Reid took off in the other direction. Eberhard was confused by the chaos.”

“Reid ran off and left you at the campsite, bleeding, wounded, and in danger of being shot by Agent Eberhard? Am I correct?” Elliott asked, hinting at a smile. “Your partner sounds like a pretty cold-blooded man to me.”

“Reid left me only because he knew that Eberhard would rather chase and kill him instead of staying to kill me. I was free of the ropes, because Reid did manage to shoot off the knot, so Doug would have had his gun, but I would have been able to get my own gun from the SUV in no time at all. If Eberhard had chosen to stay and fight me instead of chase Reid, then I would have been able to hold my own. But Eberhard would never have stayed to shoot or fight with me, and Reid knew that.”

“Sure looks like Reid took off to save his own skin,” Elliott murmured.

“No, that’s not why he ran,” Hotch insisted.

“Well, maybe I’ll ask him, if he ever gets out of the bathroom. In the meantime, what do we have? You are bleeding but no longer tied up. Eberhard is pissed because Reid ran off. Instead of staying at the campsite and filling you full of holes, make sure you’re good and dead, Eberhard forgets all about you and chases after Reid. Right?”

“Yes. That’s correct.” 

“Why not kill you?”

“Because the time it would have taken to kill me would have allowed Reid to get further and further away into the forest. Eberhard might have been worried Reid would find help—other campers, a forest ranger, whoever. Eberhard was far more interested in hurting Reid than he was in hurting me. I was the appetizer. Reid was the main course.”

“Do you think Eberhard was going to eat Dr. Reid?”

“What? No,” Hotch replied, annoyed and puzzled by the question. “I don’t think he was that crazy.”

“While we’re on the topic of Doug Eberhard’s mental state, would you care to know the contents of his knapsack?” Elliott asked.

Hotch’s face fell. “No,” he trembled.

“But it’s a very interesting list of items. I want to get your opinion of them. He had a roll of duct tape, more rope, a knife, a pair of pliers, loops of wire, extra bullets, and a small video camera.”

Hotch did not have a reply to this. He went silent and pale.

“With your expertise in the field of law enforcement, specifically when applied to tracking serial killers, what does that kind of list suggest to you?” Elliott asked.

“It’s a murder kit,” Hotch said with a shudder.

“I tend to agree. What bothers me is that bringing along a kit like that does not correspond to staging the crime scene to be a murder/suicide, does it? Reid obviously wouldn’t have killed you and then tortured and killed himself.”

“No.”

“So do you think the murder/suicide idea was a last minute decision? Eberhard went up there with one plan and suddenly changed his mind? Has he shown homicidal tendencies before?”

“He wasn’t a killer as far as I know. An angry man, a violent man, but not a killer.”

“Oh, but I disagree with you, Agent Hotchner. I think at this point, it would be a good idea to dig into Agent Eberhard’s past, because I guarantee you that someone else through the years has made him angry enough to kill. I refuse to believe your skinny little buddy in there is the only person to ever rub him the wrong way.”

“Eberhard could not have gotten in the Bureau if he had a criminal record though,” Hotch explained.

“Not everyone who has killed has a criminal record, do they?”

“No,” Hotch agreed grimly.

“What do you think changed Eberhard’s mind between the time he packed that knapsack with those implements, and drove to Shenandoah, to the time when he got to the park forest and located you and Dr. Reid? Hell, what do you think made him want to follow you into Shenandoah in the first place?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the anger has been building up all this time, and he snapped. Maybe us being out in the open where he would have easy access to us made the difference. There should have been a stressor though.”

“A stressor?”

“That’s what we call it when an emotional event occurs in a suspect’s life, a loss at home, a loss at work, a loss in their personal life, which causes them to snap. I wonder what Strauss and Winslow were talking about when I interrupted them.”

“I’d like to know that too. You don’t have any idea what caused Eberhard to snap?”

“No.”

“What made him change his plans once he got to the campsite and found you?”

“Maybe he changed his mind because we weren’t together. We were fighting. He must have seen us fighting,” Hotch surmised. Elliott nodded.

“That’s what I’m thinking too. He followed you. He found you. He was watching you fight. That’s when he decided that murder/suicide would be more fun than simple torture. Okay – that answers a few questions. Where were we in our timeline? You got loose from the tree. Reid fled into the forest. Eberhard took off after Reid. You heard gunshots. You heard screams. Other way around. You heard screams. You heard gunshots.”

“Yes. There were gunshots mixed in with the screams. Like Eberhard was chasing Reid and firing the gun at him.”

“We’ll have a better look in the daylight, see what we can find. You ran into the woods trying to find them, but came up completely empty?” Elliott asked Hotch. “You couldn’t find either of them? All that noise they were making, and you couldn’t find them?”

“I was frantic, not thinking straight.”

“Come on, Agent Hotchner. You track killers for a living. You’ve chased suspects through rough terrain before. What made this any different?”

“It was Reid. I was worried about Reid. I couldn’t think straight because I was worried about Reid.”

“Yes. It’s different when it’s personal, isn’t it? That’s easy to understand. I can related to that. Go on.”

“I had no idea which direction Reid had gone. There were three different paths in the hillside, and I had chosen the wrong one. I must have been close, but I had no idea where they were." 

“You couldn't see their foot prints?”

“I couldn’t see much of anything. There was only moonlight.”

“You didn't grab a flashlight?”

“My book-light had been destroyed in the tent along with my book. I had a flashlight in the glove box, but when I grabbed my gun, I didn’t see the flashlight.”

“You stumbled around in the woods until you ran into the ranger who had been up on the ridge, the one responding to the sound of gunfire. He took you to the hospital?”

“Much against my wishes.”

“Didn’t you tell him what had happened in the forest? That Dr. Reid was in danger out there?”

“Yes, but he wouldn’t let me back out there to search for Reid until I had gotten my gunshot wound checked. I was bleeding. He was all nervous about the blood.”

“He wouldn't listen to you, even though you told him you were an FBI agent?”

“Perhaps because I got mad when he wouldn’t help me search for Reid, and I tried to pull rank on him, and he didn’t like it. He gave me a big speech about being the law in the forest, and we were in the forest, and therefore he outranked me, no matter what my badge said.”

“You rubbed him the wrong way, and he was not inclined to be helpful after that.”

“I was being a dick, and he proved he could be a bigger dick.”

Elliott chuckled dryly, and continued writing on his steno pad.

“Lieutenant Spaulding located me at the hospital,” Hotch explained. "Brought me my clothes, my credentials."

“I assume Dr. Reid used his one phone call to reach you? He called your cell phone?”

“Yes. He left me a message. When we found out where Reid was, Lieutenant Spaulding and I hurried over here. The rest you know,” Hotch concluded.


	11. Chapter 11

The door to the men’s room opened, and Spaulding led Reid out. They paused in front of Deputy Sparks, who squared his shoulders and took one of Reid’s elbows into his grip.

“Okay, honey. I got it from here,” Sparks said to Spaulding. “Why don’t you go make small talk with Nancy, and let me handle this?”

Lieutenant Spaulding calmly dropped Deputy Sparks to the ground with a quick arm-grab-yank-bend-twist-hold. She had Sparks on his knees before the kid had a clue what had happened. He was now blinking up at her with bovine blankness, trying desperately not to notice how far up her skirt had hiked itself.

“In the future, when you are addressing a female senior officer of superior rank, you will not refer to her as ‘honey’. Will you, Deputy Sparks?” Spaulding asked.

“No,” Sparks winced.

“My name is Lieutenant Spaulding. You may call me ‘Lieutenant’. You may call me ‘Miss Spaulding’. You may call me ‘ma’am’. You may also call me 'sir'.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“As I have already taken custody of Dr. Reid, and he is my responsibility, you will step back, butt out, and let me do my job. Is that clear, Deputy Sparks?”

“Yes, Lieutenant. Please let go. You’re going to break my arm.”

Spaulding let go of Sparks, and straightened her hiked-up skirt with a subtle tug.

Sheriff Elliott called out, “Deputy Sparks, quit tormenting the Lieutenant. Go gather up Dr. Reid's things for him. Dr. Reid. Lieutenant Spaulding. In my office.”

“Yes, sir,” Sparks replied, striding away, still rubbing his arm and rotating his shoulder to wake the nerves up again. As he hurried to his desk and started stuffing Reid's things back into his satchel, Nancy pretended nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She picked up the log book again and made another notation.

Spaulding led Reid into Sheriff Elliott’s office.

“Dr. Reid, what was your first indication of trouble?” Sheriff Elliott asked. Reid sat nervously in the empty chair beside Aaron’s, and he cautiously met Hotch’s gaze.

“Go ahead,” Hotch urged.

Reid looked away, staring instead at Spaulding’s feet, at her dark blue pumps, at her ankles, at her shadow on the floor in the growing morning light. She was standing at the windows, gazing out at the Shenandoah National Forest, studying its outline. She was pretending that she wasn't trying to be part of their conversation, when she was actually hanging on their every word. Reid staring at Spaulding made Hotch and Elliott focus on her as well. It gave the illusion that Reid was waiting for her permission to speak. Or maybe it wasn't an illusion. Maybe he actually was worried about what he should and shouldn't say. A faint smile traced Spaulding's mouth when she realized he was waiting on her.

“We should desist with the questioning for now,” Lieutenant Spaulding murmured. “The doctor is very tired. He hasn’t slept since Thursday. Whatever statement he gives you would be incoherent and disjointed, due to his lack of sleep and state of shock. He’s clearly not in any condition to give an official statement at this time.”

“What about an unofficial statement?” Sheriff Elliott persisted. "Anything he says will be strictly off the record."

Spaulding faced Reid and waited. Reid stared down at his bruised hands, at the scuffed and scratched golden ring that glittered there, and began to speak.

“I’ve known for some time that Eberhard wanted me dead. I didn’t realize until last night how serious he was about it.”

“It does seem he was fairly serious,” Elliott agreed. “How long have you known?”

“Since I embarrassed him in front of his class. He’s not the kind of man who tolerates being shown up, particularly by a man like me. Violence is the means by which Eberhard expresses his emotions. His father must have been the same way – a violent man who used physical force to maintain control over his family. Eberhard must have felt strongly that I needed to be punished for making a fool of him in front of the very people he needed to feel powerful over, and so I knew then and there that he was going to kill me.”

“Agent Hotchner has explained everything up to the point where you ran off into the forest to act as a distraction to pull Eberhard away from Hotchner, who was injured and bleeding.”

“I knew the only way Hotch would survive to get back to Jack was if I let Eberhard chase me.”

“Weren’t you afraid of what would happen if he caught you?” Elliott asked.

“Certainly I was afraid.”

“Then why did you drop your gun?”

“There was no point in keeping the gun. To use my weapon, I would have to have stopped, stood still, aimed in near-darkness, and fired at Eberhard as he was chasing me. By the time I fired at him, he would have been in close range.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Elliott nodded. 

“No. In close range, Eberhard had the physical advantage. My only sure means of surviving was to stay out of close range, to lead him as far away from Hotch as possible.”

“So you ran like a rabbit?”

“More like a wounded gazelle,” Reid murmured. 

“He caught up to you?”

“Yes. He tackled me, and we rolled down a hill.”

“Through a few ferns, and past a mossy tree or two,” Elliott surmised, studying Reid by tilting left and right and back again.

“Yes.”

“He pins you down. He aims his gun at you. He fires. Bang. You’re dead. No? Why not? Why did he take so long to fire at you once he had you on the ground?”

“He had to reload his weapon. He took his time doing that. He was taunting me by slowly reloading the gun while I watched.”

“Why weren’t you scratching and biting and kicking him? Throwing punches at him? I would have been trying to defend myself even if I knew I didn’t have a chance in the world against the guy.”

“He was sitting on my chest, and on my hands,” Reid replied, showing the sheriff his palms and knuckles. “I was trying to buck him off, but it wasn’t working.”

“Enter our hero, Mr. Franklin. When did you realize you weren’t alone in the woods with Agent Eberhard?” Elliott asked.

“When his head exploded all over me,” Reid answered, gulping for air for a second or two. He took a drink of 7-Up and swallowed again.

“Do you remember hearing the blast from the rifle?” Elliott asked.

“Two blasts,” Hotch said.

“One shot. One echo,” Reid replied. “We were in a hollow which made the echo of the shot as loud as the shot itself had been.”

“Mr. Franklin came out of nowhere?” Elliott asked. “You had no idea he was there?”

“I had no idea there was anyone else around until I heard the blast, and realized Eberhard was dead. The hunter came down the hill after that.”

“He was close enough behind you that you should have been able to see him.”

“I didn’t see him until after Eberhard was dead,” Reid replied.

“I have the hunter’s statement here,” Sheriff Elliott interjected, flipping through the folder before him. “Mr. Franklin said, ‘I came upon the two men fighting. The first guy was holding a gun to the second guy’s head. I fired my weapon over them to make him drop his gun, but he moved at the last second, probably because the other guy was struggling underneath him. My shot took the first guy’s head clean off’.”

“So you have his statement, and his contact information?” Hotch questioned.

“Yes,” Sheriff Elliott nodded.

“Are we free to leave now?” Reid asked slowly.

“Are you what? No, Dr. Reid, no, you are not free to leave,” Sheriff Elliott replied, letting a spark of anger show through. “We are going to keep going over this until I am satisfied that you're telling me the truth about Doug Eberhard's death. I still have questions.”

“But I didn’t kill Eberhard,” Reid defended tiredly.

“Your fingerprints were on Agent Eberhard’s handgun.”

“When the hunter came down the hill, I wasn’t sure who he was, so I picked up the gun and pointed it at him.”

Reid looked up again, because Spaulding was struggling to suppress a smile. Spencer tilted his head. Amy glanced back over one shoulder and quickly back out the window.

“You were afraid of him?” Elliott asked. 

“Yes,” Reid replied.

“In spite of the fact he had saved your life?”

“I didn’t know who he was. I was too focused on Eberhard, sitting on my chest, pointing a gun in my face. I didn’t realize anyone else was there in the forest. Mr. Franklin appeared out of nowhere, wielding a weapon, and he was coming towards me. What was I supposed to think?”

“Maybe you passed him when you were running?” Elliott offered.

“No. I didn’t see anyone.”

“Mr. Franklin could not have appeared out of nowhere. Did he walk to Shenandoah? You must have passed a car, or a campsite, or a tent. Do you remember seeing anything while you were running?”

“I was too busy running. There was no time to glance around and notice the scenery,” Reid stammered, looking quickly to Hotch and back again.

"What happened to the hunter?" Hotch asked. "Why didn't you detain him and question him further about what he was doing in the park forest?"

“He gave his statement, and was allowed to leave,” Elliott grumbled. “There was nothing further he could offer. He left all his contact information, in case I needed him later.”

“I don’t understand why you insist on detaining Dr. Reid,” Hotch said stiffly.

“I am detaining Dr. Reid for questioning. When the rangers and my officer arrived on the scene in the park forest, the man Dr. Reid had entered the park with was missing, presumed dead. Reid was found in the company of different man, who was now dead as well. What did you think I was going to do? Let him walk?”

“Dr. Reid is the victim here,” Hotch insisted.

“I’m not psychic, Agent Hotchner. I can’t tell by looking at a man what he’s guilty of.”

“The only thing I’m guilty of is being stupid enough to get in the car with you this afternoon,” Reid murmured privately to Hotch, giving a snort of uneasy laughter. “God help you if you ever try to take me camping again,” he added, giving Aaron a severe frown. Hotch smirked at Reid in reply, and reached up to take one of his hands, gently caressing the bruises and scrape marks.

“Dr. Reid could have been the victim, or he could have been a double-murderer. I wasn’t going to know that until I talked to him,” Elliott interjected between them.

“You’ve talked to him. He has given you his statement. What else do you need?” Hotch grumbled.

“The fact remains that one man is dead, and you have been shot, and Dr. Reid is at the epicenter of my case.”

“If Dr. Reid hadn’t shot me, Agent Eberhard would have. I hope you’ll understand if I'm not terribly disappointed to have been shot in the shoulder rather than in the face,” Hotch interjected tersely.

“A man is dead, and someone needs to answer for that. The law is the law.”

“How many hunting accidents happen in Virginia in a given year?” Spaulding asked. Reid took a deep breath and stared at the floor. He was biting his mouth closed to keep from answering.

“While I’m sure the statistics would be fascinating, this particular shooting does not qualify as a hunting accident. It qualifies as the mother of all helpful interventions. Now either Mr. Franklin is an angelic emissary from a higher power, or something else is going on here,” Elliott grumbled, mustache twitching around.

“So when all is said and done, essentially you're holding Reid because he has the nerve to be alive in the face of staggering odds, and this annoys you?" Hotch accused.

"Agent Hotchner, I do in fact find it highly implausible that Dr. Reid was rescued at the very last second by a complete stranger who works for the CIA, who has the skills of a superior marksman, and who happened to be carrying a high-powered rifle at the time of this intervention. I'm supposed to believe that this random guy with a classified job happened to go camping in Shenandoah the same night and in the same location as you two? I'm supposed to believe that he happened to be in the right place at the right time to save Dr. Reid's life?”

The sheriff spat out the words in rapid fire, but as he listened to what he was saying, listened to his own train of thought, he stopped speaking. The sheriff stared at Reid, who looked away and chewed nervously at his fingernails. Elliott glanced over to Hotch, who gave him a stern, steady stare. Reid's eyes crawled back to Lieutenant Spaulding, who was watching the growing daylight outside the office windows.

"Gentlemen, how do you suggest I write this death up?” Elliott questioned finally.

“Suicide?” Spaulding suggested sweetly.

Reid fought with an inappropriate snicker that shook his chest and floated out through his nose. He drowned the unstable chuckle in a hefty slurp of 7- Up. At least he had the decency to blush when Elliott glared hard at him. The sound of distant telephones interrupted Elliott’s choice reply to Spaulding’s remark. Nancy came back to the doorway of Elliott's open office.

“Sir, there’s a General Glen Scott from the CIA on line two. He wants to know if Lieutenant Spaulding is here, and if she has Dr. Reid in custody. They’re expected back in Washington as soon as possible.”

Hotch and Reid and Spaulding were on their way in less than fifteen minutes. The Lieutenant drove. Hotch sat in the front passenger seat, dosing off and on. Reid brushed the broken glass off the back seat into the floorboard, and spent the drive home gazing silently into space out the rear passenger window.

Reid could not help but notice the non-descript black government vehicle which tailed them all the way home.


	12. Chapter 12

Part Three – Saturday Night

 

The house was quiet and dark. The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, which could be heard in the tv room where Hotch and Reid were sitting on the big leather couch. They had gotten home about half an hour ago. Giving General Scott their statements had taken a little time, but the General seemed genuinely sympathetic to how tired Reid was, and how much pain Hotch was in, so he had made the debriefing as brief as possible.

Hotch was sitting up on the big divan. He rotated his tired shoulders one at a time, and winced with pain. Aaron put a hand down into his lap where Reid was balled up, his head pillowed on Hotch’s strong thighs. Aaron stroked Spencer’s wild hair, pulling out a stray bit of leaf and a tiny segment of stick. He crumbled the leaf fragment to dust between his fingers, and laughed softly to himself as he tossed the teensy stick up onto the coffee table.

The last rays of the sun were lingering on the horizon, illuminating the trees and bushes that ran along their driveway. Hotch cocked one eye that direction, He imagined the smell of lilac and honeysuckle, and smiled to himself. He filled with inexplicable joy and warmth and humor, the desire to be funny, the desire to lighten the mood of the room, so to speak. He should have known it was a bad idea.

“Hey, baby. Tomorrow is Sunday. We have Monday free too. Why don’t we pack up the car, get the window fixed, and then pull out the atlas? We'll find a nice desolate place we’ve never been before, and spend tomorrow night outside camped under the stars?”

Spencer sat up slowly. He had not been asleep. Their harrowing weekend was mapped out over his body in bruises and cuts and lumps and bumps. He was determined not to leave the house again until work on Tuesday morning. Reid gave Aaron a disbelieving blink, and another one, before his right hand shot out. He grabbed the very last spot on Aaron’s body that he wanted to be touched – his wounded left shoulder. Reid held tight to the bandaged injury, and squeezed with all his might.

“Okay….maybe not,” Hotch whimpered, struggling not to laugh or even smile as he delicately peeled Reid’s pincher-like fingers away from his injury. “How about a couple days of peace and quiet at home?” he offered.

Reid let go, shaking off Hotch’s grip. He sniffled, stood up awkwardly from the divan, and quickly fled the tv room. Aaron listened as Reid raced upstairs, opened the big closet in one of the guest rooms, collapsed to the floor, and sobbed noisily.

Well, it had been a rough weekend, Hotch decided. He listened to Spencer wailing, and felt his heart break. He got up and headed for the kitchen. Maybe this was not a situation that called for bad humor. Maybe this situation called for hot tea and cookies instead.

Hotch put the kettle on the stove in the kitchen. In no time, steam escaped in a steady stream. He stood up from the small table, and pulled the silver globe from the stovetop. He turned off the burner, and moved to the counter, pouring boiling water into the waiting mugs.

Aaron remembered buying these large brown mugs at a garage sale a few weeks ago. Reid had been lingering over the box of used books, unwilling to pass any of them up, although to Hotch it looked like nothing more than a bunch of dog-eared old romance and mystery novels. Reid offered $20 for the entire lot. The middle-aged mom was thrilled and accepted at once. Spencer devoured three novels in the car on the way home. He had been, as always, insatiable, hungry, needy.

Hotch had slipped two dollars to the surly teen girl guarding the dishes, and had spent ten minutes standing at this very sink, scrubbing the $1 stickers off the bottoms of the mugs before tucking them into the dishwasher for a thorough bath. Reid had poured the box of books out on the study floor, and was rooting through them like a happy pig through fresh mud when Hotch had delivered him a fresh, hot mug of spice tea. From his seat on the floor, Reid had hugged Hotch’s legs and kissed his knee. But the second Hotch was out of reach, and out of Reid's immediate train of thought, Reid forgot all about him, and lost himself in his tea and his beloved books. He got lost easily in his own world. Too easily. It frightened Hotch the way Reid closed himself away.

Hotch let the tea bags steep, retrieved a spoon, threw away the bags. With both mugs in his grip, he headed for the stairs, only to hear his cell phone ringing in the tv room where he had set down his camping pack. He had forgotten the sugar too.

Aaron sighed, set down the mugs on the dining room table, and headed into the tv room.

“Hello?” he whispered, deciding he needed to find a tray to carry everything upstairs.

“There you are,” Jessica said, her words light but a tone of concern in her voice.

“Hi, Jess. We’re home.”

“Oh? You’re not in Grottoes, Virginia?” 

“No.”

“Not at the police station? I had the most curious message from someone named Sheriff Elliott.”

"I’ll bet you did.”

“I didn’t see the message this morning before we left. We've been out all day-- baseball games and shopping. Just saw it now when we got back. Decided I’d try your phone first. Are you and Spencer not having a good time?” she tried to joke but her voice sounded worried, strained.

“No. Sorry, Jess. I’ll explain it all later. We’ll have a good laugh about it, someday.”

“But not today?” 

“No, sorry.”

“Do you want me to bring Jack home? The boys are having dinner at the moment.”

“I don’t want to spoil his weekend too. If Jack is having fun, let him stay at least until tomorrow.”

“What happened, Aaron?”

“Reid and I had a fight,” he sighed.

“Awww. Your first big fight. That's so sweet.”

“No, not sweet,” Hotch pouted. “It wasn't our first fight, but it sure was an ugly one.”

“At least you’re not dead,” she mused softly. Hotch was frightened what kind of message the sheriff had left.

“Leave it to you to find the bright side,” Aaron snorted.

“It’s one argument, Aaron. It’s not the end of the world. You and Spencer will weather this. Haley always said you weren’t happy without an argument a week. I’m surprised you’ve held out this long without taking a swipe at each other.”

“I’m not that argumentative,” Hotch frowned.

“Yes, you are. Haley thought what you really needed was a hobby or an outlet for those confrontational aggressions, or you’d start kicking in doors and shooting unsubs at random. She suggested boxing. Marksmanship? Professional puppy-kicking?”

“Very funny. You don't know how much I miss Haley's sense of humor.”

“Yes, I do,” Jessica sighed. “Do you want me to put the boys to bed and come referee between you two?"

“You don’t want to put yourself in the middle of this.”

“Hotch, I’m a couple’s counselor. It’s what I do. Let me help. Where is Reid? Let me talk to him.”

“He’s sulking in an upstairs closet. That is so not healthy.”

“What is so not healthy?”

“Reid, hiding upstairs instead of standing his ground and discussing this with me like a grown adult. What about you and Jerry?”

“I’m a screamer. Jerry is a door slammer. He says it’s the Irish in him, but I think he’s afraid he’ll say something that will hurt my feelings, so he never stays in the room. I follow him around the house, and bark at him from the doorways like a demented terrier. When we go too far, he retreats to his workshop and pretends he’s working. I go away and leave him alone until we both cool off. Then I make his favorite dinner, and he fixes the light switch that’s been broken for six weeks, and all is better again.”

“I am a wretched cook, and all the light switches are working fine. Now what?”

“Tea and sympathy?” she suggested.

“Got the tea covered,” Aaron chuckled, pain in his voice. “It’s not healthy—Spencer always leaving the room so I won’t see him when he’s upset.”

“That depends. Why do you feel it’s so important to see him upset? Maybe he’s not the type of person who is comfortable showing emotions in front of others. Maybe he doesn’t want you to think he’s weak for being upset. Aaron Hotchner, you are one to talk about someone not wanting to show emotions in front of others,” Jess said seriously.

“Oh, you two girls did talk about me, didn’t you?” Hotch joked uncomfortably.

“I'm your friend, Aaron. Do you know what a friend is? That's someone who has seen you at your worst, and loves you anyway. They love you as much for your faults as they do for your virtues. I'm here if either of you needs to talk, together or separately,” Jess offered again.

“Thanks,” Hotch sighed, brushing the moisture away from his eyes.

“We’ll see you tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “Love you. Bye.”

“Love you. Bye,” Hotch echoed, disconnecting the call and putting down his phone.

Friday afternoon had started out with such promise and hope. Hotch could not have imagined that by Saturday night, he would be standing in his dining room, wondering if he had completely wrecked his relationship with Reid, and struggling not to sob like a wounded two year old.

Hotch gathered up the sugar dispenser from the kitchen counter, then the mugs from the dining room table. He retrieved a box of ginger snaps, and a tray from under the counter. He piled everything randomly on the tray, and headed up the stairs. The scents of cinnamon and allspice and cardamom echoed around him as he climbed.

When Hotch reached the top of the stairs, Goody emerged from the guest room. The cat gave Aaron a haughty stare as he strode past and went to the study. Hotch's heart hurt. Even the cat was mad at him.

Hotch reached the guest room, only to discover that Reid was no longer sitting in the bottom of the closet. Puzzled, he turned around. There was a trail of mud and leaf particles leading into the guest room bathroom. In answer to his question, the shower turned on. Hotch gave a deep sigh and sat down on the bed to wait. If Reid wasn’t so angry with him, Aaron would have stripped off his clothes and joined him in the shower. But as things were, he didn’t think being alone, naked, and defenseless in the company of an angry Spencer Reid was a good idea.

Hotch put the tray on the side table and leaned back on the pillows. He was asleep in seconds.

Hotch jumped awake as a figure moved next to him. Reid was standing by the bed, sipping from a mug of tea. The shower had improved his mood. He looked grateful and tired. He was pushing Hotch’s hair out of his eyes with a careful, gentle touch. When Aaron sat up and stretched, Reid leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. Hotch was warmed by the kiss, feeling a tiny bit of hope rekindle in his chest.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Reid murmured.

“I’m sorry about trying to be funny,” Aaron replied. 

"I'm sorry I ruined your weekend," Spencer offered. 

"I swear I will never take you camping again. Cross my heart.”

“I’m so sorry I shot you.”

“I’m not sorry you shot me,” Hotch smiled, rubbing his shoulder. "Do you know what I've decided to do? I'm going to get a tattoo over this scar when it heals. A heart with your name on it, proof positive that you love me."

"That is probably the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say," Reid informed him. Hotch grinned boyishly in reply. "Do you want to take this party back to our room?” Spencer asked.

“No,” Hotch said, patting the edge of the bed. Reid sat down next to him. Then scooted an inch or two closer. Then nestled shyly against Hotch's side and put his head on Aaron's right shoulder. Aaron put both arms around Spencer and held on tight.

“What can I do to make this up to you?” Reid asked softly.

“I rather thought I needed to make this up to you,” Hotch murmured, stroking Spencer’s back.

“Either way, we’ll figure it out,” Reid whispered in reply.


	13. Chapter 13

Epilogue

 

“Papa, what does ‘sabbatical’ mean?” Jack asked.

Spencer stopped and set his carry-on down on the carpeted floor. He glanced away from Hotch’s big, sad eyes and down to Jack, who had even bigger, sadder eyes, as if that were humanly possible. Reid folded his long legs, and sat down in front of Jack. Other people on the airport concourse got annoyed because they had to steer their suitcases and their carts and their children around the trio.

“Sabbatical is from Latin, and Greek, and Hebrew. It means to cease, to stop, to take a rest from work. Sunday is called the Sabbath in some religions,” Reid explained.

“You’re taking time off from work,” Jack understood.

“Something like that, yes. Administrative leave is a little different from a sabbatical, though the end result is the same. It used to be the custom in some professions that a person would work six years, and get the seventh year off.“

“You’re going to be gone for a whole year?!” Jack exclaimed, bursting into tears. Other people were beginning to stare. Hotch stroked Jack’s hair as Reid got up on his knees and put his arms gently around the sobbing boy.

“Sweetheart, no, no, no. Don't cry. Jack, honey, I would never leave you for a whole year! I’m just going to Las Vegas to visit my mom. I’m coming right back. I promise you. Cross my heart, hope to die. In a few days, you and Daddy are going pick me up at the airport. This airport, right here. I could never stay away for a whole year, ever. I would miss you too much. Both you and Daddy.”

“How long are you going to be gone?” Jack sniffled.

“A few days. It depends on how my mom is doing,” Reid replied, drying Jack’s face and rubbing noses with him. “I will call every day. You can call me anytime you want to talk to me too. I want you to take care of Daddy while I’m gone." 

"And Goody?"

"And Goody too," Reid nodded. Jack smeared fresh tears around with the backs of his hands. "Make sure Daddy eats. Make sure he sleeps. Don’t let him do his homework all day and all night. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jack sniffled.

“Don’t let him flirt with the pretty waitresses when you go out to eat.”

This comment won a smile from both Jack and Hotch. Reid paused and cast a cautious glance up at Hotch, who was surreptitiously drying off his face and clearing his throat.

“We’d better hurry. You’re going to miss your flight,” Hotch whispered.

Reid stood up, holding Jack on one hip. He put his other arm around Hotch, and leaned his face against Aaron’s neck.

“It’s only for a few days,” Reid promised. Hotch nodded unsurely, not convinced. “Look, don’t worry. I packed seven pairs of boxers, and you know how I am about clean underwear, and conversely how I am about doing laundry, so in seven days, I’ll be back, if only for clean underwear.”

“It’s not fair. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’ve cooperated with their every request. You’ve given them deposition after deposition for two weeks straight, and they suspended you anyway. It’s not right. You should stay here in DC and fight this every step of the way,” Hotch said, struggling to keep his voice even and free of the anger that was burning him up inside.

“It is perfectly fair, and completely reasonable, that the Bureau would want to do their own internal investigation of the situation. I’m cooperating with Strauss because I agree with her decision. I should not be working while they are conducting their investigation. She had no choice but to put me on leave until the matter is cleared up. To do anything else but put me on leave and give this matter a meticulous and thorough review would make it appear like the Bureau was covering up a crime.”

“But you didn’t do anything wrong. They shouldn’t punish you because Eberhard tried to kill you, tried to kill us,” Hotch growled. He was frustrated because it felt to him like the Bureau had concentrated solely on Reid and his actions instead of Eberhard and what Doug had done.

“You’re assuming they’re going to punish me?” Reid gave a timid half smile. “How do you know Strauss doesn’t want to perform an investigation to forestall me from suing the Brass for keeping a deranged maniac on the job for all these years, even knowing he was a physically violent man with rage issues?”

“Well…. well I hadn’t….” Aaron stammered. 

“Doctor Myers opened up to me privately about Eberhard’s psych evaluations. You have no idea what they’ve been covering up. The sexual harassment issues were just the half of it. Oh, but I did find out what the stressor was that caused Eberhard to snap on Friday."

"What?" Hotch gulped.

"Winslow wanted to hire a second physical training coordinator to help teach some of Eberhard's classes, in order to lighten his workload, and maybe take some of the stress off of him. You can imagine how well that went over."

"Yeah, I can imagine," Hotch nodded.

"Believe me, the Bureau wants to do this internal investigation as much for their own benefit as anything. Hotch, you have to stay positive about this, because you're my rock. I need you to be positive.”

“I don't feel like a rock. I feel like quicksand," Hotch whispered.

“Let Strauss do her job. Don’t be a dick to her. Be cooperative with anything she wants. I’ll be back in a week. I promise. Thank her again for letting me go.”

“Please be safe," Hotch begged. "Keep your eyes open."

“I love you,” Reid whispered to Hotch, then repeated to Jack. He reluctantly put Jack onto Hotch’s side, and let go of both of them in order to grab his carry-on once more. Jack reached for Reid and started sobbing loudly again.

Spencer turned and headed towards the security gate, tensing his shoulders as he heard Jack crying hard behind him. He couldn’t turn around without wanting to cry as well, but he couldn’t leave without one last glance. He stood in the short line, and steeled himself as he looked back. Hotch was holding Jack, soothing his tears. Reid smiled reassuringly to Aaron, and Hotch returned the smile with as much courage as he could possibly muster.


End file.
